In Too Deep (4 page)

The house smelled great when Dr. Taylor welcomed us and ushered us into the sitting room. It made me hungry right away, even though I hadn't even been thinking about food beforehand.

Greg came into the room a moment later, and I was annoyed to feel the familiar lurch in my stomach as soon as I saw him. He smiled and came to sit in the armchair beside the couch where Mom and I were seated.

“Hey, Shelby.”

“Hi, Greg. Something sure smells good.”

“Probably my cologne,” he joked, leaning toward me as if offering me a sniff.

“Oh, my mistake then, I thought it was your dad's cooking.” I laughed in spite of myself, and it occurred to me that even if he was dating someone else, it was nice being his friend.

We all chatted for a bit, and then Dr. Taylor led us to the kitchen and took several large pans out of the oven. He'd made lasagna and garlic bread with a thick layer of melted cheese oozing over the top. A salad appeared from the fridge, and we settled down to eat.

It was scrumptious, and I'd have been tempted to take seconds if Greg, seated to my left, hadn't whispered to be sure to save room for dessert.

On top of being a good cook, Dr. Taylor is a great host. He has a knack for making guests feel comfortable and including everyone in the conversation. It popped into my head that some woman would be pretty lucky if he ever married again. But then, it wasn't that long since his wife had died, so he probably wasn't ready yet.

I'd drifted a bit from what was being said, engrossed in chewing the crusty-soft bread that seemed to melt in my mouth, and almost missed something important. It was such a passing remark that it was a few seconds
before its meaning hit me, and even then I wasn't sure of what I'd heard. I leaned over to Greg.

“Did your dad just say you worked the last two nights?”

“That was my exciting weekend all right,” he nodded. “Pumping gas and washing windshields. Why, are you jealous that your life isn't thrilling like mine?”

“But I thought …” I didn't finish the sentence, realizing that saying anything about his date with Amber would make it look like I cared. He must have been called in to work at the last minute and had to cancel. That pleased me, even though they had probably already rescheduled for another time.

“You thought what?”

“I just didn't know you worked on Friday evenings,” I said, hoping it didn't sound too lame. The truth was, his schedule changed all the time, so my remark was pretty flimsy.

“I do sometimes,” he stood to take our empty plates to the sink, “though I usually have either Friday or Saturday night off. But the Brodericks were away part of this weekend, so Amber and I worked all the shifts. They came back last night, or I'd have pulled another double today like I did yesterday.”

“Amber is working at the gas station?” I could hardly believe it. Mostly, I felt this huge burst of happiness. Her comment to him hadn't had anything to
do with a date! She was talking about seeing him at work. That also explained why she'd laughed when he told her to wear her best outfit.

“She's paying her room and board that way.”

“I thought the Brodericks were her relatives.”

“They are, but she doesn't want to freeload. The only way she was willing to come here was if they agreed she'd support herself by working for them.”

I wanted to ask him why she was staying with them in the first place but didn't like to seem nosy. Maybe he'd let something slip about it later.

Dinner was over with soon, and Greg and I did the dishes. When we were finished we went to the book-filled den and sat chatting while the adults visited in the sitting room. It seemed that the evening passed faster than any I can remember, and it was with real reluctance that I got up to leave when Mom called me. Funny how I'd dreaded going there and then hated to leave.

We all thanked Greg's dad for the great dinner and the adults did their usual last-minute conversation thing in the doorway as we prepared to leave. I felt a stab of disappointment because Greg hadn't come along to say good night.

Then he appeared, coming through the kitchen, hiding something behind his back. When he reached the group congregated in the doorway he drew his hand around and held it out to me.

My mouth fell open as I saw that he was holding two carnations, one pink and one white.

“These should make up the rest of a dozen,” he said softly, slipping them into my hand.

It was the perfect ending to the day. I told Greg the carnations were beautiful and thanked him, surprised to find my voice so calm seeing as how my heart was beating with excitement and happiness.

I could tell he wanted to kiss me, and I was a long way from being opposed to the idea myself, but since our parents were all standing around that was out of the question. On the drive home, drifting into one of my frequent daydreams, I pictured what our first kiss would be like.

Usually it's Mom who has a mysterious knack of knowing what's on my mind, but this time it was Dad who seemed to know exactly what I was thinking.

“I suppose,” he said, glancing at me in the rearview mirror, “that this boy will be trying to put the lips to you one of these days.”

“Dad!” I protested.

“What?” he pretended to be puzzled by my reaction. “I'm sure someone will want to kiss you sometime. After all, you're not that homely.”

“Dad!”

“Well, you're not, dear. In fact, I think you're pretty passable, overall.”

“Dad!”

He chuckled then, satisfied that he'd teased me enough for one day. Mom was amused too but kept her head tilted down and a little to the side so I couldn't quite see her smiling. The movement of her shoulders gave her away. Feeling pretty charitable, I forgave their enjoyment at my expense.

When we got home I added the two new flowers to the bouquet and sat them on the nightstand beside my bed. It hadn't even occurred to me that ten was a strange number of flowers to send anyone, and I made a mental note to pay more attention to details. It was that sort of thing that made for a good investigator.

Not that I think I'm some great sleuth or anything, but it was putting together the meaning of details that had enabled me to figure out who'd been setting fires in Little River only the month before. I wondered idly if I might be able to figure out who had stolen Laura's watch. I hadn't given it much thought over the weekend, being so immersed in the happenings in my own life. I pondered the matter as I fell asleep.

By the end of that week, though, Laura's watch was just the first of a number of things that had disappeared from students at Little River High.

It started on Tuesday when a CD walkman went missing from a bookbag that had been left unattended for a few moments. By Friday, the list of stolen items included small amounts of cash taken from a number of lockers, a Gameboy, a wallet, and a leather jacket.

The principal, Mr. Lower, made an announcement over the intercom, asking anyone who had information on the thefts to come forward. He promised anonymity, and possibly a reward, for those who did so.

No one seemed to know anything, and it was clear that the thief had been careful not to be seen. Everyone started being really careful, watching their belongings and changing locks on their locker doors.

The worst thing was that there was this air of suspicion all through the school. Anyone with an enemy found some reason to suggest that person was involved, which I thought was kind of stupid. Just because you don't like someone doesn't mean that person is a thief.

And then someone came up with a theory that grew and took on at life of its own in no time. It was impossible to trace the idea back to the original source, since it spread so fast that before long it was on the lips of half
the students. It became so accepted that most kids looked on it as a fact by the time it had made its way through the school.

Amber Chapman was the only new student, coming to the school shortly after the March break. On top of that, the thefts had begun almost as soon as she'd arrived. I had to admit that it looked bad for her, but I'd already learned that things are not always the way they seem. Besides, aside from the coincidence of her arrival corresponding with the disappearances, there was no evidence to tie her into the thefts.

Even so, it wasn't long before she was looked at as the number one suspect, and a lot of the kids started giving her accusing looks. I figured she had to know what was being said about her, seeing as how a lot of the remarks that followed her around weren't exactly what you'd call whispers.

That was when I decided that I was going to try to find out who was responsible. If Amber was guilty, she deserved to be tried by the evidence, not by rumours and suspicions.

Greg was as aware of the talk as anyone else at school, and I discussed it with him one evening when we were talking on the phone.

“Since she insists on paying her room and board at the Brodericks' by working,” he pointed out, “she doesn't seem the type to go around stealing.”

“That's true,” I agreed, “but then, she hasn't exactly endeared herself to the kids at school. It seems as if she hates everyone. Well, everyone except you. If she's taking things from the school it could be for personal reasons.”

“Like what?”

“Well, something no one seems to know is why her family sent her here. One thing that's pretty clear, though, is that she doesn't want to be in Little River. Maybe she figures if she gets caught stealing she'll be kicked out of school. She could see it as a way to get back home.”

“That's possible,” Greg said slowly. “But if that's the case, it doesn't make sense that she's covering her tracks so carefully. Why wouldn't she leave clues that point back to her if she actually wants to get caught?”

I couldn't answer that, so I pointed out again that no one knew why Amber was in Little River. I suggested that maybe she was a kleptomaniac and that problems related to stealing could have made it necessary for her to leave her home and come here in the first place.

“There are lots of other possible reasons,” he replied. “It's not fair to start guessing why she's here without any actual facts.”

“You're the only friend she's made at school,” I tried to sound casual, even though I knew he'd see that I was digging for information. “You must know something about her.”

“Even if I did,” he said firmly, “it would hardly be my place to go spreading it around. She has the same right to privacy as anyone else.”

I couldn't help noticing that he hadn't actually denied that he knew something he wasn't telling. I almost blurted that he should be able to tell me because I was his girlfriend, but that wasn't exactly accurate. Even though he'd given me flowers, he hadn't asked me out, at least not yet.

Anyway, Greg isn't the type to gossip, and I knew it was just as unlikely that he'd betray a confidence whether I was officially his girlfriend or not.

Well, that didn't matter. A plan was formulating in my head. If Amber was guilty, I figured I knew how to catch her red-handed.

Well, I might not actually have been going out with Greg yet, but at least I had a date with him for Saturday evening. We'd just been leaving the school after classes on Friday when he sidled up to me, leaned over, and whispered in my ear.

“Say, Miss Belgarden, might I ask what your plans are for this weekend?”

“I hadn't really thought …” I began in a normal tone of voice.

“Shhhhhh,” he interrupted, sticking his finger over my mouth, “this mustn't get out.”

I giggled and then nodded solemnly, forcing myself to look serious. “Sorry,” I lowered my voice to match his. “What did you have in mind?”

“I can't say. But if you're free around seven o'clock tomorrow evening all will be revealed then.”

“I think I can pencil you into my busy schedule,” I hissed. “Where will I meet you?”

“I'll come for you, but you must tell no one of our plans.”

“That shouldn't be much of a problem since I don't know what they are myself.”

“Just as well. That way no one can torture you and make you talk.”

I rolled my eyes. “Really, where are we going?”

“It is not time yet. You will know soon enough.” He glanced around furtively as though to make sure no one was listening and then added, before heading off, “Remember, seven o'clock. Wait for the secret knock at your door.”

I couldn't keep the smile off my face on the way home! All Friday evening I tossed ideas around of what he might have planned, but nothing seemed right. It certainly wasn't going to be something usual, like a movie and snack at the Scream Machine, our local soda shop and teen hangout.

To tell the truth, it was more fun
not
knowing where we were going. In a way, it reminded me of Christmas, and how much fun it is waiting and wondering what might appear under the tree. Betts told me one year that she'd found every hiding place and knew what her gifts were going to be ahead of time. I couldn't understand that at all. It seemed to me that
she'd deliberately ruined the best part — the excitement and anticipation.

By Saturday afternoon my stomach was all a-flutter and the clock seemed to have slowed to a near stop. Every time I looked at it, willing the hours to pass, it had barely crept forward at all. I tried to keep busy, but it was impossible to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes before thoughts of the date with Greg distracted me.

It's kind of hard to admit this, being fifteen and in grade ten and all, but I've never been kissed yet. Well, the truth is, I haven't actually done a lot of dating. The dance I went to with Greg last December was the only real date I'd ever had, and that wasn't what you'd call a smashing success.